Jared is one of the street boys I met at the football game in Lira. He and I had one of those moments you see when you’re at a conference sometimes, and the speaker points out someone in the audience and yells at them.
I didn’t do it on purpose.
(And relax. It didn’t really involve that much yelling.)
We were nearing the end of the conversation I told you about last time. The boys wanted to know when I was coming back to Lira, and I was trying to figure out the best way to say, “I don’t know,” to a group of kids who don’t have phones, home addresses, or Internet access.
I finally hit on prayer.
It’s a lesson God’s been pounding into me this last year or so, and it seemed like an appropriate answer. “I don’t know when I’ll be coming back,” I said to the boys. “Maybe a month from now. Maybe ten months. Maybe ten years.”
“Ten years!” they groaned.
And then one of the boys in the back started rattling off something in Luo that I didn’t understand at all.
“What’d he say?” I asked Washington.
“He says ten years is too long. He says if you wait ten years, they’ll all be dead.”
That’s when I took my cue from the few conference speakers I’ve seen and locked eyes with Jared. “Ten years is too long?” I challenged.
Well, yeah.
“Okay, then you pray. You pray every day, and I’ll pray every day, and it won’t be ten years. Okay?”
And then he nodded, and the moment passed, and we wrapped up the conversation.
I would love to know today if Jared remembers that conversation. I would love to know what he thinks about Jesus. I would love to know if he’s praying.
All I know is, I most certainly am.
